


Echoes of Us

by CariadWinter



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Dead/Not Dead, History Repeating Itself, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Merlin's Been Waiting Too Long, Modernized Names, Past Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Pre-Slash, Resurrection by magic, implied Gwen/Lancelot - Freeform, mentions of uther - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:57:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9322541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CariadWinter/pseuds/CariadWinter
Summary: Magic users are at war with the rest of the world, Uther is Prime Minister, history is repeating itself and Merlin's world has finally come 360. The kicker is, he's the only one that remembers it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragon/gifts).



Time moved differently there. It was an unchanging stretch of gray walls and endless screams. The damned and dying existed in the cells around him, all of them waiting for the same inevitable fate. 

Magic rose and fell in waves throughout the centuries and in this life, as it had been in the first, its users were hunted and branded like criminals.

Those who were found to be magic users were dealt one of two fates. Those with strong gifts, who were born with magic, were taken from their homes and placed in ‘containment’ facilities or executed. Others, those with weak magic or were simple practitioners or sympathizers, were branded and sent off for re-education. If the re-education was a success, the individual was returned to their life, but forever placed on a watch list and shunned from most of society. When re-education failed, the person was sent to a ‘containment’ facility and never seen again.

No one was above the law. No matter the status of your birth, all magic users and sympathizers were held accountable.

Merlin had avoided the fight at first. He’d fought for and against magic already. He remembered the heartache that had come with it. Every step he’d taken since then, every life lived and loved one lost served to remind him that getting involved was for naught. When he’d needed magic most, it had failed him and now, all these centuries later, even the once spoken promise of Arthur’s return wasn’t enough. He lived his life like most others, simple and magic free.

That is, until an old familiar face had shown up on his doorstep. Freya, in all her ethereal beauty, had come to pull him from his isolation. Magic needed its sorcerer again. It needed a weapon to hurl at its enemies. How could he refuse her? The Lady had begged him to fight and the tiny spark of love he’s still held for her answered.

After Freya’s solitary appearance in his life and Merlin’s emergence into the fight, other familiar faces began to cross his path. Some of their names were different, modernized over time but their faces were undeniably the same. It felt, almost, as though time had reset itself. Merlin was home again. He was whispered about throughout the magical community. Emrys had risen again. He had a purpose and a people who needed him to fight for them.

And then came Arthur.

It was no one’s fault that Merlin got captured. Truth be told, Merlin hadn’t put up much of a fight. He refused to kill unless forced to. He defended, he healed, and left the killing to others. All life to Merlin, no matter whose it was, was precious. Still, war had a way of twisting even the best of intentions. He’d stuck his neck out too far, went in search of a captured friend and found himself in a battle he couldn’t win. The enemy subdued him, bound and sedated him. That was the last thing he remembered before waking to all the gray.

The room he’d come to in had been cold. It was all stone and metal. The single lighting fixture illuminated the room with an unforgiving fluorescent glow that bore into his sensitive eyes. Merlin had been strapped to a chair at the center of the room, barely able to keep his head up, but he’d had enough of his faculties left to him to be afraid.

He’d not recognized the man who’d entered the room at first. There’d been only a blur of blonde hair and the bulk of the man looming over him. The drugs they’d injected him with had been strong. They’d had to have been. He’d vaguely recalled fingers lacing through his hair and the stretch of his neck as his face was turned upwards. Arthur had spoken to him then. Surely it had been something derisive and cruel, but Merlin had been struck dumb by the smug expression on the man’s face. They’d been there before. They’d done this dance lifetimes ago and though Merlin hadn’t been a prisoner then, the sense of deja vu had been a heady thing. He’d resolved, then and there, that no matter his fate, he would not fight the man before him.

Arthur came to Merlin daily to evaluate him. He kept track of Merlin’s mental wellbeing and asked endless questions about the rebellion and their plans. Merlin answered no questions. Others came to take him from his cell. They poked and prodded him, tortured him until he could barely move, and then once they put him back in hs cell Arthur would come again. Time eventually ceased to exist. There was only the pain and then the soothing rumble of Arthur’s voice.

“You don’t fight. You don’t speak or even look me with hatred in your eyes,” Arthur commented as he circled Merlin’s chair slowly.

Merlin stared blankly at the floor, caught in an endless loop of spasming pain. They’d used electroshock therapy on him this time and his muscles still felt as though they were in the grip of its claws. Ever since they’d taken him for hydrotherapy, the rasp in his lungs he’d come away with hadn’t made the following day’s torments any easier.

Arthur’s footsteps quieted behind him and an old, familiar heat tickled the back of Merlin’s neck and ears.

“Why do you not fight?” Arthur inquired softly, his breath ruffling Merlin’s shaggy curls. “You are the great Emrys are you not? The rebels one great hope?”

A raspy, wet exhale rattled across Merlin’s parted lips. Like the others, Arthur had no memory of the life they’d shared together. Only Merlin and Freya carried that burden. The others had all died and been reborn into new lives and unknowable fates. Merlin and Freya were the ghosts left to haunt the dark places.

“I…” Merlin croaked and coughed because of the sudden tickle in his raw throat. All he’d done lately was cough or scream.

A deep breath brought another round of hacking coughs, but Arthur waited patiently. Why wouldn’t he? His prisoner was finally speaking.

“I,” Merlin tried again once the coughing fit had subsided and found he could speak finally. “I will never… fight you, Arthur,” he rasped.

Arthur circled around to Merlin’s front and reached out to cradle Merlin’s chin in his palm. The touch itself was warm against Merlin’s flushed skin, and it made Merlin’s eyes flutter. Arthur lifted Merlin’s head so their eyes met. Merlin’s were almost certainly glazed with fever and exhaustion, but he held the contact as best he could. 

“Why?” Arthur questioned, curiosity alight in his blue eyes. “It’s my charge to subdue or eradicate every single one of your kind and yet, you offer up no fight. At least, not to me. I am your enemy, Emrys. You make no sense.”

Merlin swallowed past the swollen ache in his throat and licked at dry, cracked lips. “You are many things, Arthur, but my enemy is not… one of them.” He coughed again and the ache in his ribs grew. Merlin’s energy was fading quickly.

“What I am… Arthur… all that I am… is yours. I’ve only ever been yours,” Merlin breathed out tiredly.

Arthur’s brow furrowed and he dropped his hand to his side. Merlin’s head lolled forward, his breath coming with a slight wheeze on every exhale and a faint whistle with each inhale. Soon, very soon, Merlin’s strength would leave him completely.

“This fever has you confused, sorcerer,” Arthur drawled. “We are at cross-purposes you and I. I would see you and the rest of your kind dead and forgotten.”

“To what end?” Merlin asked. He wanted to lift his head to look at the man but didn’t have it in him. “Is your heart really so dark? What is our crime? Possessing magic? You don’t understand so you kill? Is that who you are, Arthur?”

Fingers laced into Merlin’s hair and lifted his head up. Merlin blinked blearily at him. Arthur looked angry, but there was something else. Something in his eyes told Merlin that he’d pressed a button.

“This war isn’t yours, Arthur,” he rasped. “You don’t have to follow blindly. Needless death and destruction, it’s not in your heart.”

Arthur’s expression morphed into a haughty sneer. “You know nothing of my heart or me, Emrys.”

Merlin tried to stifle another cough and shook his head even though Arthur’s fingers were still tangled in his hair. “I know your heart better than any other. In this life… and the next. I know you better than I know myself.”

Arthur pulled his hand away and Merlin’s head lolled forward again. 

“It’s the delirium,” Arthur mumbled most likely to himself and Merlin huffed a small laugh that led to another coughing fit.

The back of Arthur’s hand pressed to Merlin’s forehead and Merlin leaned into the warmth of it. The room was so cold, always so cold. Merlin had been cold for so long that he didn’t even realize he was trembling from it anymore.

“I’ll have you transferred to the medical wing for treatment, Emrys,” Arthur told him and stepped away again. “Can’t have you dying on me can I?”

Merlin huffed a few heavy breaths, desperate for one solid deep one and then whispered, “Merlin.”

Arthur leaned down, too close, close enough for Merlin to feel the warmth of him against his cheek.

“What was that?” Arthur asked.

Merlin turned his face until their noses all but brushed together. “Merlin… sire,” he rasped. “I am… Merlin.” Merlin forced himself to meet Arthur’s gaze once more. “Your Merlin.”

Arthur withdrew, face pale as though he’d been touched by a ghost. He cleared his throat and pulled himself up to his full height, chest puffed out as though it were some sort of defensive posturing. Merlin dropped his head again.

“You will die, Emrys,” Arthur stated firmly. “In three days you’re to be put to death, broadcast live for the world to see. I’d leave you here to rot if I thought you’d make it that long.”

Merlin coughed in response and closed his eyes. He assumed the sound of footsteps was Arthur moving towards the door.

“What will become of your precious rebellion once you’re gone, sorcerer?” Arthur asked.

Merlin blew a breath out through his nose and opened his eyes again. “They will fight on, Arthur,” he answered honestly. With or without him, the rebels would fight until they found either victory or death. “With or without me… they will fight on. I only hope that you remember who you are before it’s too late.”

Panting now, Merlin tried to silently use his magic to summon some warmth into his bones. He was too weak though and deflated a little in the chair.

“Hopefully, one day soon you’ll realize we aren’t all your enemies.”

Arthur stood silent for a long moment, so long in fact that Merlin thought for a moment he’d imagined him this whole time. Finally, the sound of the door opening alerted Merlin to Arthur’s continued presence. 

“Three days, Emrys,” Arthur reminded him quietly. “Make your peace with God.”

And then he was gone.

*****

“Hold all of my calls, Gwendolyn,” Arthur instructed as he headed into his office.

“Yes, Dr. Drake,” Gwendolyn droned back, never once looking up from her desk.

Their relationship was an odd one at best. Arthur had known Gwen for most of his life. Her father had worked closely with his own until he’d passed away from cancer when Gwen was fifteen. She’d gone to live with an aunt and uncle after that, but they’d still attended school together. They’d shared something greater than friendship then, something that could have even possibly been love. For one reason or another, they’d faded into simple friendship though and while at uni, Gwen had met her husband, Lance.

At the beginning of Gwen and Lance’s relationship, Arthur would admit to being wildly jealous. It had caused problems for them for a time but eventually, Arthur had gotten over himself. He’d realized how happy Gwen was and he’d backed off. After a time, Lance and Arthur had become friends. For years afterward, Arthur had considered the both of them the closest friends he had in the world. Then the war had begun.

Arthur’s father had raised him to believe that all magic was evil at its core. Magic, as far as Arthur had been led to believe, had killed his mother. The midwife they’d employed when she’d been pregnant with Arthur had fed her endless concoctions that had eventually weakened her to the point of forcing her into an early labor. Arthur had survived, his mother had not. Uther never recovered from her death. He’d grown cold and bitter, always aloof and demanding throughout Arthur’s childhood. Uther had been the driving force behind the call to force all magic users onto a registry. He’d been the one to demand stricter laws governing magic users as he made his climb through parliament. Finally, when he’d been voted in as Prime Minister, Uther brought an iron fist down on the magical community. He exploited every avenue available to him to have their rights all but crushed and finally, the war on magic began.

Arthur didn’t have the luxury of choosing a side. Uther had chosen for him at birth and in the eyes of the people, Arthur was just as responsible for the war as his father was. He was his father’s son, after all, born and bred to be the man’s shadow. 

The thing was, the day Lance was arrested for aiding a known magic user, both Arthur and Gwen were forced to reevaluate their positions in life. Arthur was already too deeply entrenched in his father’s crusade against magic. After graduating university and a short stent in Her Majesty’s Army, Arthur had attended graduate school and attained his doctorate in behavioral psychology. Once graduated, Uther’d put Arthur to work right away in the main ‘containment’ facility in London. He worked closely with every prisoner that was held in the facility and eventually took over the running of it.

The rule was, no one was above the law. No matter who you were, no matter who you knew, if you were discovered using magic or aligned yourself with known magic users, you would be arrested, charged, and punished accordingly. Lance wasn’t any different. Lance couldn’t receive special treatment. It didn’t matter that he was one of Arthur’s best friends. It didn’t matter that his wife was a close family friend of the Drake’s and had been since childhood. Lance chose his side and in doing so, he’d forced Gwen and Arthur to chose a side as well.

After Lance’s arrest, Gwen had pled with Arthur to do what he could and he had. He’d tried at least. Uther’d wanted him executed on principle. Lance had gotten too close to the family. He knew things that could endanger what the PM and his supporters were trying to accomplish. Luckily, Arthur had convinced his father to place Lance in one of the re-education centers. He’d be branded a traitor to the crown and would be forced to register as a magic sympathizer, but he’d be alive. If you could call it that. Everyone knew that once you were placed in a re-education center, you didn’t come out the same.

Gwen had thanked Arthur for saving Lance’s life, but ever since their friendship had been strained. They weren’t as close as they’d once been and Arthur couldn’t fault her for it. That she’d come to work for him as his personal assistant inside the facility had both shocked and worried Arthur for a while. Uther had spoken out against it, but Arthur had convinced him of it. He could keep a better eye on her that way and it would show the public that Gwen did not support her husband’s views or decisions. Arthur, of course, knew different, but they never spoke of it. Gwen hated the war and he knew it. Still, he did feel better having her close. He really did like being able to keep an eye on her and well, she kept him human.

Now that he thought about it, it had been during a raid on the re-education center that Lance was being held at that Emrys had been apprehended. Surely that couldn’t be just a coincidence. Lance and several others were still missing from the center and Arthur couldn’t help but wonder if Lance had escaped or if he’d been killed and his father was keeping it from him. He also wondered what the connection between Emrys and Lance was if there was one at all. It hadn’t been the first time there’d been a raid on a re-education center.

Arthur sighed as he settled into his desk chair and scrubbed a hand over his face. There were many practices that the monarchy backed that turned Arthur’s stomach. Re-education and torture were two of them. Reeducation left the individual a shell of who they used to be. The brainwashing, and that’s what it was no matter what his father wanted to call it, destroyed nearly everything that made the person who they were. All that was left was a mindless drone that embodied what the PM and parliament would like every one of its citizens to be. Torture just turned Arthur’s stomach in general. It was inhumane. Yet here he was, overseeing the torture of more than a dozen prisoners. He may not do the torturing himself, but he worked with the aftermath of it daily and he said things that made his own skin crawl. 

Emrys’ treatment bothered Arthur more than the others. He didn’t know why. He couldn’t explain it. There was something about the man, something familiar that shook Arthur to his core. Today had been their first conversation despite the fortnight that Emrys had been there and it had only left Arthur with more questions.

Who was this man? Where had he come from? Why was his magic so powerful? Why did Arthur respond to him on a visceral level? Every look, every stuttered breath, it made Arthur want to pack him away and care for him personally.

There was this thing between them, a thing only time could foster into being. He was exasperated at Emrys’ power and lack of self-preservation. From the tale’s Arthur had heard of Emrys, the sorcerer had more than enough magic to bring the whole facility down around their ears. So why then, did he allow them to torture him? Why remain a prisoner?

“Because he’s mine,” Arthur mumbled, his fingers tapping methodically against the desktop. _I am yours, Arthur_.

Arthur growled and slapped his palm down hard enough to sting. “What does that even mean?” he snarled and dropped his head back onto the seatback.

Arthur didn’t know anything about Emrys other than the stories he’d heard and yet, here they were. Here he was, wrapped up in a man, a sorcerer, that would be put to death in a matter of days. That is if the pneumonia didn’t kill him first. Arthur was certain that’s what it was and he mentally kicked himself for not catching it sooner. He’s should’ve had Emrys examined days ago.

He blew out a frustrated breath and scrubbed his hand over his face again. The thought of Emrys dying actually pained Arthur and that just couldn’t be. He couldn’t allow himself to become emotionally involved in the inmate’s well-being. Once that door was opened, Arthur’d never be able to close it again.

“Who are you, Emrys?” Arthur murmured softly. “And why can’t I shake this feeling when I’m around you?”

The sound of the door opening had Arthur’s head snapping up. Gwen crossed the short distance to his desk, file in hand.

“Dr. DeBois dropped this off for you,” she informed him and held out the file. “He was hoping you’d sign off on one final procedure for inmate 45963.”

Arthur’s eyebrows rose at the inmate number and his pulse sped up. “What good could another procedure possibly do him? Emrys is half-dead from pneumonia and we’ll be lucky to keep him alive until his execution on Thursday.”

The statement was more or less Arthur venting to himself, but the silence in the room was suddenly palpable. The color had drained from Gwen’s face and her brow had furrowed.

“He’s to be executed?” she asked, disbelief clear in her tone.

Arthur cleared his throat and set the file down on the desk. “It was always coming, Gwen. We both know that.”

Gwen’s mouth worked nervously for a moment before she licked her lips and cleared her throat as well. “I just thought he was more valuable as a political prisoner is all. We’ve only had him a short time. Has any of the interrogation even worked on him yet?”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but he left his immediate thought unspoken. There’d been a spy within the facility for months now and while Gwen had been a suspect at first, she’d been cleared. Still, Arthur knew where Gwen’s feeling lie and the whole situation made him uncomfortable. He didn’t know what he’d do if they drug her off one day.

“He won’t talk,” Arthur finally stated, then looked down at the folder on the desk. “Emrys is never going to tell us what we want to know. That much is clear. So, instead of wasting time and energy on continuing to question him, his publicly broadcasted execution will send a clear message to the rebels.”

He toyed with the edge of the file folder, bending it up a little and then smoothing it out again. “Not even their strongest and most revered can stop what’s inevitably going to happen.”

Arthur looked back up at her and though he tried hard not to show it, a small twinge of sadness flared in his chest. “They will lose, Gwen. Maybe not today or even a month from now, but they will fall nonetheless. My father and the rest of his minions will see to that.”

Gwen only stared at him for a moment, clearly shaken by what he’d shared with her. He gave her a second to process it and finally she gave a single nod of her head and turned to leave. There was a part of him that hated to hurt her and he knew for a fact that it did hurt her. What was worse, there was a part of him, deep down, that wanted to be wrong.

*****

Merlin lay shivering in the bed they’d transferred him to. Supposedly, they’d taken him to the medical wing. At least, that’s what he thought he’d heard them say. He was certain really, but the bed was soft and it was a far cry better than the floor.

Things were quiet at the moment and if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear the castle coming to life around him. After all these many years, Merlin had expected his memory to fade. In truth, it had in many ways. There were things, however, that even time could not steal from him. The early morning sounds of the castle was one.

During the years that Camelot had been his home, the early morning had always been his favorite. There’d been the clatter and clamor of servants rushing here and there, the smells of baking bread and roasting meat. The world had been coming alive, fresh and new. Ready for anything.

Tears welled behind Merlin’s closed lids. The memories of that place, of home and the loved ones he still missed every day, it was still too much for him. This was the reason he’d withdrawn from the world. He was broken inside. Sure, there had been others throughout the many years he’d lived that he’d cared for and he’d lost them as well. No death, no loss in all those years had hurt as much as losing those he’d loved so dearly in Camelot however. Those deaths had left a hollow inside him that he’d thought would never be filled.

Now, Merlin wondered if that might change. Freya had been the one to draw him out of seclusion and back into the world, but Arthur… could this really be his Arthur? Had he returned? Could he fill the empty places? There was good in this Arthur’s heart. Merlin could sense it. He could see it in the care he took with him at times. Still, while he’d told Arthur that he knew his heart, it was hard to see his own Arthur in this reincarnation. This Arthur was colder somehow. He’d spent longer under Uther’s thumb without a buffer to show him right from wrong. Perhaps… perhaps it was time to truly bury the past and let the ghosts in Merlin’s head rest. Perhaps he was waiting for a dream that just wasn’t going to come true.

His next inhale left him coughing harshly and curling over onto his side. The taste of copper flooded his mouth. This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten sick nor was it the first time that, by all rights, death should have been the next stage to follow. It never came for him though. Merlin had prayed for it more than once and though his body would shut down for a time, he’d always wake eventually. It didn’t stop that little voice in the back of his head from wishing for it. To finally sleep an endless sleep, Merlin couldn’t decide if it wouldn’t still be a blessing even now.

The touch to his arm was a gentle one and it drew Merlin back to lie flat on the bed. He clung to his memories for one final moment before opening his eyes. Arthur stood at the side of the bed and Merlin met Arthur’s gaze with tired eyes.

“Is the medicine helping at all?” Arthur inquired quietly.

Merlin had to swallow down the taste of his own blood before he could speak. “I think we’re past that now,” he replied honestly. He could feel his body shutting down even as the medicine they’d injected him with fought the infection in his lungs.

Arthur frowned down at him. “You can’t know that. Can you?”

“I’m magic,” Merlin replied with a weak smile. “Remember?”

Something flashed in Arthur’s eyes and he looked away from Merlin. He moved away from the bed to retrieve a chair, then returned to sit at his bedside.

“Why did you not fight?” Arthur inquired again and Merlin thought he heard a slight bite to his tone.

Merlin’s gaze drifted up to the white ceiling tiles. He missed the high, stone ceilings of the castle.

“I told you, Arthur. I can’t fight you,” he replied breathily. No matter what this Arthur was like, no matter what was in the man’s heart, Merlin could never harm him. He didn’t have it in him.

“Do you want to die, Emrys? Is that it?” Arthur pressed almost angrily.

The corners of Merlin’s mouth curled up into a mockery of a wistful grin and he closed his eyes. Those final moments he’d shared with Arthur before his king had died played in his mind.

“I died a long time ago, Arthur,” he told him. “At least, my heart did. This is nothing but a body. A shell.”

Arthur sat silently at his side for a long while and Merlin nearly drifted off to the constant, slow, steady beep of the heart monitor.

“How did it happen?” Arthur murmured just as Merlin’s breathing started to deepen and Merlin’s eyes fluttered open.

He didn’t need his eyes closed to remember that. Those demons never left him.

“You were wounded,” Merlin whispered. “I was late… to the battle and… I couldn’t…”

Tears stung Merlin’s eyes and he closed them again. He risked trying to clear his throat and ended up coughing again. Arthur waited at his side patiently. The hand that had touched Merlin’s arm before found it’s way back during the fit and remained there after he’d calmed.

“You died in my arms, Arthur,” Merlin continued once he could breathe a little easier. “I tried to save you. I couldn’t… there was so much I still had to tell you. So much… I wanted to show you. Share with you.”

The tears were free flowing now and Merlin found it increasingly harder to breathe. Each inhale was thick and wet, harsh sounding to the ear and Arthur’s hand moved to rest on Merlin’s chest. The heart monitor began beeping erratically.

“Easy now,” Arthur commanded gently and reached up to pull an oxygen mask over Merlin’s face before returning his hand to his chest. “Calm yourself. Try to take slow, deep breaths.”

Merlin nodded and tried to do as Arthur bid him. It was nice, having Arthur care for him. 

Again they sat in silence for a time and Merlin tried hard not to smile when he realized that Arthur was breathing in time with him.

“How long ago did your Arthur die?” Arthur asked when Merlin’s eyes started to droop again.

Merlin reached up to pull the oxygen mask away from his face. “I can’t imagine you haven’t heard the stories. The legend of King Arthur is quite the popular fairytale,” he pointed out.

Arthur nodded. “And I’m to believe that you are the Merlin from the legends?”

Merlin gave a weak nod of his head.

“How, exactly, is that even possible?” Arthur pressed. “I mean, I know you have magic, but can that really make you immortal? And if you are immortal, are there other immortal magic users like you out there?”

Merlin struggled to swallow and blew out a slow breath through his nose before answering. “My magic is what keeps me alive. Even if I were to die, the magic brings me back. As for others like me, there are none that I know of. I am… the only one.”

It was a lie, of course, but one he felt justified in telling. The last thing Merlin would ever do was put Freya in danger. He doubted that mortal men could ever reach her, but nothing was impossible.

Arthur nodded again. “So you are King Arthur’s legendary sorcerer and you think that I am…”

“You are him, Arthur,” Merlin interjected. “You were always meant to return. When Albion needed you most.”

“Albion,” Arthur mumbled with a slightly confused look. His eyes lit up a second later. “Arthur’s kingdom? Yes?”

Merlin gave a nod of his head. 

Arthur arched a brow down at him. “But there is no more Albion, Emrys. If this kingdom ever even existed at all, it has long since been divided and destroyed.”

Merlin huffed a frustrated, pained breath through his nose and closed his eyes again. Arguing with Arthur, as always, was like arguing with a brick wall. The man accepted nothing he was told unless he could see it with his own eyes.

“I don’t know how it works, Arthur,” Merlin sighed. “But you’re here aren’t you? You’re here and the world’s in the process of tearing itself apart. Magic… magic is dying, Arthur. We’re fighting for our lives out there and we need someone who can bring the opposition down from the inside.”

Merlin opened his eyes again and looked up at Arthur. “We need you.”

“You need me?” Arthur echoed back softly and maybe it was the fever, but Merlin swore time slowed a little.

“I need you,” Merlin whispered back.

They stared at each other, caught in the moment.

“You loved him,” Arthur blurted suddenly and Merlin’s heart skipped a beat. “Your Arthur, you were in love with him.”

Merlin shook his head. “It wasn’t like that between us. He loved his wife. Guinevere was everything to him.”

Arthur leaned in closer. “Love doesn’t have to be returned to be given. You would have given your life for him. Even now, he’s all you think about.” Arthur shook his head. There was something akin to awe in his eyes. “You loved him.”

Merlin sighed and licked his lips. “Why does it matter?” he asked, desperate to change the subject.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Why are you here?” he countered with a question of his own.

Merlin huffed. “I’m here for the same reason I’ve always been here. You,” he grumbled with only a hint of bitterness to his tone. “You’re my destiny, Arthur. I’m meant to be by your side.”

Arthur shook his head. “You really are quite mad aren’t you?” he murmured.

Merlin grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to cough again. His whole body felt like it was going to break apart and the one thing he wanted to do more than anything else was knock some sense into the man sitting next to him. Merlin knew how it sounded. Of course he did. It all sounded completely, undeniably insane. Sadly, it was true though and he didn’t have to energy to argue with him about it.

In a fit of desperation, Merlin reached up and grabbed the side of Arthur’s face. Arthur could have pulled away if he’d wanted. Merlin’s strength was next to nothing. Merlin’s eyes flared gold though and Arthur was caught. With what energy he had left, Merlin cast his own memories into Arthur’s head. They were nothing more than flashes of images, but it was the only truth he could give Arthur that the man could grasp and hold on to.

“Remember… Arthur,” Merlin gasped. Pleaded.

The magic drained him faster than Merlin would have liked and before he could relay everything, his hand slipped from Arthur’s face, his eyes rolled back into his head, and darkness swallowed him whole.

***** 

Before Arthur was completely out of the grasp of Emrys’ magic, the heart monitor flatlined. The blare of the machines brought two nurses running. Arthur was pulled away from the bedside by one of them. He was still shaking his head trying to clear it. Another nurse entered the room, followed by the doctor, and time snapped from slow motion to fast forward in an instant.

The doctor was yelling orders at the nurses. One was injecting something into Emrys’ IV, while another was cutting up the center of his white top. The third nurse silenced the heart monitor and then moved towards Arthur as the doctor began compressions on Emrys’ chest.

“You should wait outside, Dr. Drake,” she instructed and tried to lead him towards the door.

Arthur moved a few steps in the direction she was leading him. His heart was pounding in his ears and he was still trying to wrap his mind around what was happening. 

“I…” he mumbled, then shook his head again and brushed her hand off his arm. “Don’t worry about me!” he ordered. “Get back over there and help them!”

She shot him a worried glance, then nodded and headed back over to the others. 

Arthur moved slowly backward until his back hit the cold support of the wall. His ears were ringing. The surge and pop of the defibrillator made his teeth ache. He was only vaguely aware of the fact that he was grinding them. 

Arthur was stuck in the last image the sorcerer had shown him and the blinding white of the hospital room walls faded to gray stone. He was in a large bedchamber. There was a long table before him and a desk to his right. There was a man sat at the large dining table. The blonde was dressed in a red tunic and brown pants. It took Arthur a moment to come to the realization that he was staring at a mirror image of himself. Arthur, Emrys’ Arthur, was smiling softly at him and it was so obvious. So bloody obvious that it made Arthur’s chest ache.

“Fuck me,” he gasped softly and another loud buzz and pop of the defibrillator made Arthur shake his head one last time.

The images faded, but Arthur felt as though he’d been branded somehow. Someone was counting and Arthur started to panic a little. The heart monitor had been silenced, but it still only showed a flat green line and one of the nurses was doing compressions on Emrys’ chest while another was giving him short bursts of oxygen between each five count.

Arthur’s heart flopped in his chest. “Emrys,” he breathed out, loud enough for only himself to hear.

“Charged to three-fifty! Clear!” the doctor barked and the nurses withdrew long enough for him to defibrillate Emrys again.

There was one beep, two… then nothing.

The nurses picked back up their compressions and oxygen while the doctor barked an order at the third nurse and charged the machine again. Arthur blinked stupidly at the whole scene.

“Merlin,” he mumbled, ears still ringing.

“I’ve got a sinus rhythm!” yelled one of the nurses and everyone stopped.

Emrys was back. 

Arthur was almost ninety percent sure that he’d had a psychotic episode somewhere along the way and he was the one hallucinating at this point. Whatever the case, it took him twenty minutes to make the short walk back to his office without passing out.

*****

“Arthur?” Gwen’s voice sounded over the intercom and Arthur stared at it for a moment before pressing the button to answer it. 

“Yes?”

“Dr. Debois is here to see you,” she informed him.

Arthur’s stomach sank. He’d completely forgotten about the man and his request. The folder was still sitting on his desk from the night before.

“Send him in,” he told her and cut the intercom. 

A second later, Debois was standing in front of him. “I heard there was quite a bit of excitement this morning with inmate 45963.”

Arthur nodded. “His pneumonia took a turn for the worse,” he informed the man. “They’ve placed him on a ventilator.”

Debois hummed and arched a brow, hands tucked behind his back. “Have you informed Uther?” he asked. “I imagine he’ll be rather put out if we have to cancel 45963’s execution.”

Arthur had to force himself not to glare at the man. Debois was tolerable most days, but he had a touch of sycophant to his nature and it turned Arthur’s stomach. There was also something mildly sadistic about the man that made Arthur rather uneasy.

“I’ve not informed him of anything as yet. I want to see how the inmate fares throughout the day before making the call.”

Debois nodded and glanced the folder beneath Arthur’s hand on the desk. “And the procedure I wanted to perform?” he inquired as though they’d not just been discussing Emrys’ near demise.

Arthur blinked up at him. “The man nearly died, Debois. Did die, in fact. I’m fairly certain this procedure of yours would be ill-advised.”

“I’d think the immediacy for the procedure to be understood,” Debois countered. “We don’t know how much longer he will be with us and I think extracting viable brain tissue while we can is of the utmost importance. It could aid us in developing a serum that would suppress magic in every user.”

Arthur stared up at him as though he’d suddenly sprouted a third eye. “Debois, forgive me, but I doubt seriously that 45963 would survive such an intrusive procedure. Would you like to be the one to explain to my father why his golden goose got put down before he had the chance to do it himself?”

Debois took a step forward so that he all but towered over the desk. “I understand what 45963 means to your father. His execution would be a tactical victory that would send the rebels into disarray. He’s a god to them and if we show them that gods can be killed just like any other man or woman, we’ll be able to cripple them. But the serum, Arthur! Think what it would do for the war long term! He’s the most powerful they have. We can’t let this opportunity pass us by. The only reason I didn’t perform the procedure before this was I didn’t want to risk leaving him with permanent brain damage if he was still needed for questioning. Obviously, that is not a consideration any longer.”

Arthur sighed and rubbed at his temples. “The fact remains, Debois, that until I know he will survive the procedure, I won’t be signing off on it. We need him alive. End of story. At least until Thursday. Now if you don’t mind, it’s been a long day.”

“Arthur,” Debois began to press and Arthur shot him a withering glare. 

“I am not going to change my mind, doctor. So please, leave me.”

Debois’ teeth clicked as he snapped his jaw shut and shoved his nose into the air before turning and leaving. Arthur knew that wouldn’t be the last of it, but for now, he had the peace and quiet he needed. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around what had happened in Emrys’ room. Somehow the sorcerer had… shared his memories? Or had he simply planted the images he needed Arthur to see to make his story seem real?

But no, if he tried to sort through what he could remember, there were too many to simply create on the spot. At least, Arthur thought there must be. There were images of people and places; an older man who reminded Arthur of a pediatrician he’d seen when he was little, his father, a raven-haired woman that had bewitching eyes. There was Lance and Gwen, Gwen’s brother Eli, and another bloke with long brown hair. Most of all, though, there was Arthur. Arthur was a constant in the images and though he never saw Emrys, he realized he must be seeing these images through the sorcerer’s eyes.

He was so deep in thought that Arthur didn’t realize someone had entered his office until a hand reached out to touch his shoulder. Arthur glanced up to see a worried Gwen standing next to him. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, brows furrowed in concern. “I’ve been calling your name for near on five minutes now.”

He blinked up at her, still lost for a moment before her words caught up with him. “What? No, I’m fine. Sorry,” he apologized. “I was just lost in thought is all. Didn’t hear you come in.”

Gwen nodded but didn’t look convinced. “Yes, well,” she began as she rounded the desk to stand on the other side, “I was just going to let you know that Debois was mumbling something about speaking to Uther when he left. Whatever you said to him has got him all worked up.”

Arthur grunted at that. “Debois has a problem with everything I do and this time he’s just bloody well going to have to deal with it. I’m not going to allow him to cut into a dying man’s skull in the hopes of retrieving brain matter that may or may not be valuable to us.”

“What’s he want with brain matter?” Gwen questioned, her expression changing from concern to curious.

“He thinks that because Emrys is the ‘strongest’ sorcerer we know of, studying his brain matter might help us develop a serum to suppress other magic user’s abilities,” Arthur explained and Gwen drew back as though she’d been slapped.

“He’s practically comatose though!” she exclaimed. “He can’t even breathe on his own and that man wants to cut into his brain?”

She sounded utterly appalled and Arthur couldn’t say that he didn’t agree with her. Debois was a truly scary piece of work and Arthur disliked having him on staff. The man excelled at doing Uther’s bidding though and Arthur had no say in the matter.

“Yes, well, I’ve denied his request so… I’m sure to hear from my father before the day is out.”

Gwen shook her head and Arthur watched as she brushed invisible lint off her skirt. She did that when she was worked up about something.

Looking at her now, he juxtaposed the image Emrys had stuck in his head over her. He could see her there, hair down in an endless curtain of curls, dressed in a lavender gown that made her skin glow. Her smile was the same; soft and sweet and welcoming. She was, by far, one of the most understanding and loving women he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing and it took no great stretch of the imagination to imagine her as a queen.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” he asked before he could think better of it.

Gwen looked up at him as though he’d somehow managed to brain himself on something. “What?”

“You know,” he replied with a casual wave of his hand, “rebirth. Dying and being reborn. Multiple lives. Do you believe in it?”

Her right eyebrow arched high on her forehead and she folded her wrists behind her back. “Well, I don’t know that I’ve ever really thought about it,” she admitted. “If you’d asked me a few years ago, I would have said absolutely no. I believed in Heaven and I believed in Hell, but coming back again? No. Now, though… magic exists and we’re in the middle of an almost holy war. Though I’d wager it’s your father who thinks he’s god,” she tacked onto the end, then realized she’d said it out loud. 

Arthur snorted, choked on it, and then cleared his throat. “I don’t have a proper argument for that so… moving on,” he chuckled. 

Gwen snorted out her own quiet laugh and smiled at him. “Why the interest in reincarnation all the sudden?”

“I don’t know,” he answered with a shrug of his shoulder. “Perhaps the inmates are starting to get in my head.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, studying him. “One inmate, in particular, I’d wager.”

Arthur was certain he tried to look innocent and failed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh don’t even bother, Arthur. I saw how spooked you were after coming back from medical this morning,” Gwen pointed out. “Emrys nearly dying did something to you. You care for him. He’s gotten under your skin.”

He could deny it, but what would be the point? Gwen knew him better than most anyone.

“I can’t explain it, Gwen. Nothing could ever come of it. I doubt he’ll even make it through the night. Hell, he’s set for execution if he does and…” Arthur scrubbed at his face and dropped his head back against the chair. “There’s just something about him, Gwen, and I can’t shake it.”

“Do you have feelings for him?” she asked and Arthur’s head shot back up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gwen! He’s an inmate. A crazy one at that.”

She arched a brow at him again. “And yet, here we are having this conversation and you’re saying that you can’t get him out of your head,” she countered.

“I said there was something about him,” Arthur corrected. “Not that I couldn’t get him out of my head. He’s just… Christ, Gwen! He’s the last person I need to get myself twisted up over!”

Again, Gwen stood silent for a moment before speaking. She looked uncertain. “He’s a good man, Arthur. Sad in ways that I could never understand, but he’s got a big heart. To be honest with you, he always looked a little lost to me.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at her. “You knew him? Before all this?” he questioned. “Was he friends with Lance?”

Gwen shifted uncomfortably where she stood. “I only met him a few times and I didn’t know then who he was. Lance never brought any of the people he was associated with home with him. Well, except for Emrys. I think it was because Lance felt a sort of kinship with him. They got close during their time working together.”

She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head before looking back at Arthur. “I think it was Lance Emrys was after the night he got arrested,” she stated quietly. “And I suppose that’s my fault. The last time they went out together, I made Emrys promise to look out for him.”

Arthur sighed, half wishing she’d never told him any of this. “It’s not your fault, Gwen. If they were as close as you say, Emrys would have gone after him promise or not,” he assured her. “Though I feel like a bit of a blind idiot for never seeing any of this. We were friends all that time and I was totally clueless.”

A sad smile curled her lips and she finally sank down into one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Lance wanted to protect you from it. He was good at hiding things. And he truly did care for you, Arthur, even if you were on opposite sides.”

“Opposite sides,” Arthur mumbled and blew a slow breath out through his nose. “I’m not certain how opposite those sides are anymore, Gwen.”

Her smile brightened a little and grew. “It’s because you don’t have the hate for it in you. Not really. You’re a good man, Arthur. Despite all of Uther’s efforts to turn you into a carbon copy of himself.” 

She motioned to the room with a small flick of her hand. “All of this, I’m surprised you’ve lasted as long as you have. You’ve never had the stomach for the torture and though you put on a good game face, I know you don’t agree with most of what Uther tells you is right. Why do you think I’ve stuck by you all this time? I knew you’d eventually come around.”

Arthur huffed at her. “You knew nothing of the sort.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t expect you to go and fall for one of the inmates, but I knew you’d have your fill of it sooner or later,” Gwen insisted.

“I have not fallen for Emrys!” Arthur yelled and Gwen snickered.

“Keep your voice down!” she chided. “This isn’t exactly the place you want to be overheard saying something like that.”

Arthur huffed and shook his head. “I don’t know why I keep you around, Gwen. Honestly.”

“Because I’m the only one that will put up with you for long periods of time,” she informed him.

Arthur just glared at her.

“So,” she sighed and folded her hands in her lap, “what are we going to do about all this?”

The glare faded and Arthur let his gaze trail off to the bookshelf to the right of his desk. “There’s nothing that can be done, Gwen. I can’t just betray my father and even if I did, what good would I be to anyone? No one in your husband’s world is going to trust me, Emrys is dying, it’s pointless.

Arthur hated feeling helpless. 

“Well that’s certainly depressing,” Gwen retorted. “Since when have you been a defeatist? The Arthur I know doesn’t give up on anything.”

Arthur looked back at her, ready to shoot her down again, but Gwen was right. He’d been taught to never give up on anything. Quitting just wasn’t in Arthur’s nature. Uther was certainly to blame for that.

“Alright then, what would you suggest, Gwendolyn?” he shot at her instead. “Shall we just take Emrys and walk out the front door? I’m sure they’d understand.”

Gwen gave him a long-suffering glare. “Don’t be cheeky, Arthur,” she chastised. “I’m trying to help you here. I could just leave it all for you to figure out on your own. Then where would you be?”

Arthur opened his mouth, closed it, and then chuckled. Gwen was always the first to say exactly what was on her mind and god help the person who didn’t listen to her. She was usually right.

“This is all mad, Gwen. You don’t just… fall in love overnight and then up and change your entire life,” Arthur ranted. “It isn’t done. Not in real life.”

Gwen gave a small sigh and looked contemplative for a moment. “What if you didn’t have to change your entire life? I mean, we can tackle the whole love thing later. But, what if we could somehow smuggle Emrys out of the facility without involving you directly? Uther already knows that there’s a mole here. What if we get that person to smuggle Emrys out and you take his place? He’ll never suspect you.”

A twinge of pain ridden guilt twisted in Arthur’s chest. “I don’t know if I could, Gwen. I… he’s my father. I can’t just…”

“You can and you will, Arthur,” Gwen stated in a commanding tone. “Uther is your father and you love him, but if you continue down the road you’re on, what kind of man will you become? And can you live with yourself once it’s happened? These people are innocent, Arthur. Yes, some of them have done things in the name of magic that is unthinkable. What choice did they have though? What choice do any of them have but to fight? All they want is to live free and equal, Arthur. Is that so wrong? Aren’t those the basic rights and dignities we all demand ourselves?”

Arthur drew in a deep breath then blew it out again slowly. “I just wish it was that simple,” he replied. “One moving speech and the world changes. Wouldn’t that be so much easier? If people actually listened when someone called for peace?”

Gwen smiled sadly. “The world would be a very different place if we all treated each other equally. Sadly, everything has to be a fight and in war… you have to choose a side. Now all you have to do is ask yourself which side will allow you to live with yourself.”

Arthur studied Gwen silently. In his heart, he’d already made his choice. It had been coming for a while. He’d only needed that final reason to take a stand against his father. Arthur loved Uther. He would always love him. He would always need him. Uther was wrong though. He was wrong and it was time for the war to end. It was time for oppression to end. No, it wouldn’t end overnight and things weren’t going to magically change, but it would be a step in the right direction.

There was still one thing that weighed heavily on Arthur’s heart. 

“Emrys is barely hanging on, Gwen. He has a machine breathing for him. How am I supposed to get him out of here without killing him?”

Gwen chewed thoughtfully at her bottom lip, her eyes raking back and forth across the desk. “Could we smuggle him out in a medical transport?” she suggested. “Perhaps there’s another facility better equipped to deal with his condition. Surely Uther would push back the execution for this. If he dies before Uther gets to have his day it would all be rather pointless.”

Arthur shook his head. “Believe it or not, we do have state of the art medical facilities here,” he replied. “Can’t have the prisoners dying on us before we get what we need from them. As much as Debois and my father suspect it to be so, none of them are actually immortal.”

_Even if I were to die, the magic brings me back_

Emrys’ words echoed in Arthur’s head suddenly and it was as if a light switch had been flipped on. He slapped his hand down on the desk and Gwen jumped.

“We let him die,” Arthur blurted out, equal parts terrified and elated. He only hoped like hell that Emrys was right in what he said. The magic had to bring him back. It had to.

“We what?” Gwen exclaimed. “Are you mental? We need him, Arthur!”

“Of course we need him, but no! Don’t you see?” Arthur countered excitedly and rose from his chair to move around the desk. Gwen stood to meet him. “Emrys said it himself! His magic won’t allow him to die. Or rather, it brings him back if something happens! If that’s true…”

“Then we can remove his body from the facility a lot easier than smuggling out an actual live inmate!” Gwen continued and all but jumped in place. “It could work!”

“It will work,” Arthur insisted vehemently. “It has to. My father will think him dead and we might actually be able to deal a few crippling blows.”

“We?” Gwen said with a smug smirk.

Arthur huffed and sobered a little. “I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but yes, we.”

Gwen launched herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, Arthur! I’m so happy to hear you say that.”

She squeezed him tight and Arthur wrapped his own arms around her waist to hug her back. “Yes, well, we’ve both probably gone completely round the bend you know.”

“Maybe so,” she replied. “But at least we’ve gone there together. Like always.”

Arthur nodded against the side of her head and then turned his face to press a kiss into her hair. “Like always,” he agreed.

*****

The wind was taken completely out of Arthur’s sails when he reached the medical wing later that evening and discovered Emrys missing from his room. 

“Inmate 45963,” he called out as he approached the nurse’s station, “where is he?”

The young man behind the desk glanced up at him then immediately went to the computer there when he realized who was asking.

“Um, it looks as though that patient was transferred up to the surgical ward more than an hour ago,” the man informed him.

Arthur was livid.

“On whose authority?” he demanded.

The young man glanced back at the screen. “It… um, it says here the order was authorized by PM Uther Drake,” he answered nervously. “I… was that wrong?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “No,” he snarled with a tap of his hand against the desk. “No, it’s not wrong.”

He tapped his hand again twice and moved for the lift. Debois had somehow convinced his father that the procedure for Emrys was a necessary evil. Arthur was almost certain Debois had left out the part where Emrys almost assuredly died because of it.

When he reached the operating theater, Arthur practically slammed his finger into the intercom button. Debois was already mid-procedure. The sight of Emrys’ head cut open like that turned Arthur’s stomach.

“How dare you supersede my orders, Debois!” Arthur bellowed through the open comm.

“Arthur!” Debois called back nonchalantly, keeping his focus on Emrys rather than looking up to the viewing window. “So good of you to join us! You should see this. Honestly! It’s rather fascinating. 45963’s brain activity is still registering off the charts even during the procedure.”

“I forbade this, Debois!” Arthur snarled. “I told you he was in no shape to undergo this.”

Debois’ headed bobbled a little. “You did, yes, but I mentioned it to Uther in passing and he seemed to agree that it was necessary. He was more than happy to sign off on the order.”

Arthur’s fists balled at his sides and he had to mental restrain himself from storming in there and pummeling the man. He pressed his thumb back against the intercom button. 

“And did you mention Emrys’ current condition before he signed off on this? Or did you overlook that little detail?”

Debois’ shoulders hunched a little. “I didn’t see the need to bog down your father with the minute details, Arthur. He’s a busy man after all.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Look at me, Debois,” he demanded, tone deadly serious and though it took a second, Debois looked up to the viewing window. “If Emrys dies… you’re finished. Do you understand? I will make it my personal goal in life to strip you of both reputation and license. You will never work as a surgeon again.”

“Arthur…”

Arthur removed his thumb from the button and walked away. His heart was in his throat and though letting Emrys die was very much a part of the plan he’d constructed with Gwen, allowing it to actually happen was difficult. It terrified him in fact. He couldn’t get his head and heart to agree on the fact that it was a necessity. What if Arthur was wrong? What if Emrys’ magic didn’t revive him? What if this time was different than all the other times Emrys had spoken of.

What if…

What if…

*****

Merlin hummed and snuggled down into the warmth that surrounded him. The mattress was soft. It cradled him perfectly and made it all too inviting to want to sink back into slumber. Somewhere there was coffee brewing though and… scones? Blueberry scones? Those were his favorite.

Slowly, he cracked open his eyes and two things registered to him at once. The first was that the pain was gone. He could breathe normally with the burn and burden of infection. Second, he was no longer in his cell. He wasn’t even in a hospital. The room he was in was small, cozy even. It contained the bed he lay in, a single wardrobe against the wall across from the foot of the bed, and a dresser to the right of the bed. There was a door between the wardrobe and the dresser and what looked to be a window to his left. With the curtains pulled shut, Merlin couldn’t make out what was beyond the window. He could, however, hear the hum of a television beyond the closed door and the clank of what sounded like dishes.

Carefully, Merlin pushed back the duvet and sat up. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and flexed them a bit to get his circulation going. He felt a bit stiff, the way he always felt after… after…

Merlin reached up to press a hand flat over his chest. It had happened again.

He closed his eyes, drew in a few deep, measured breaths, then opened his eyes again. Merlin tried to think back but what he could remember was fuzzy at best. He had no idea of how long he’d been held captive or how much time had passed since his body had given out on him.

Standing was a bit of a chore, but he managed to push himself off the bed and only wobbled a little. A glance down at himself told him that he’d lost a bit of weight. The sweats he was wearing hung low on his hips and the T-shirt was baggy. That was fine. He’d gain it back quickly enough. He always did. 

Waking up for the first time after his body had died on him was like growing old. His bones ached and everything was slow going at first. Merlin hobbled to the door and opened it cautiously. If he had to run, which he doubted he’d have to, he’d likely be caught within the first few steps. It’d take him a few days to recover his full strength or even the full use of his magic. He was always drained after times like this.

Glancing out, Merlin noted that the hallway was a short one. There was a door directly across from him, a window to the left, and to the right, the hallway opened up into what appeared to be a sitting room. Merlin stepped out into the hall and quickly cracked the closed door to discover a small bathroom. It appeared that whoever had taken his body had transported him to a cottage somewhere. 

There was a slight chill coming off the wood floor that hung in the air and spoke to the colder temperatures outside. The closer he got to the mouth of the hallway, his hand brushing along the wall for support, the warmer it got. With a clearer view of the sitting room, Merlin noted a fire burning in the hearth and a few rustic looking pieces of furniture here and there. Directly across from him lay the door to the cottage and to the right an archway that led into the kitchen perhaps. The noises of clattering plates and running water was coming from there.

He started to head for the door but stopped halfway there. Whoever it was that had brought him here probably didn’t mean him any harm. They’d cleaned him and dressed him and let him rest in what looked to be the only bed. They were caring for him, not keeping him prisoner.

Merlin turned, stretched his neck to try and peek into the kitchen, then crept slowly forwards. When he hit the archway, the sight that met him caused his heart to flutter. There was Arthur, standing barefoot in front of the sink, in a pair of loose jeans and a button-down top. The sight of it, of him, did things to Merlin that he’d thought he’d buried long ago.

“Arthur,” he rasped, voice rough from disuse.

Arthur nearly jumped clean out of his skin. The plate he’d been washing slipped back into the soapy water and he jerked around to see Merlin leaning against the opening to the sitting room.

“You’re awake,” he mumbled, at a loss for anything more to say.

Merlin nodded.

It had been nearly three weeks since the sorcerer had passed from both his illness and complications coming out of surgery. Uther had been livid once given the news of Emrys’ death and Debois had disappeared shortly thereafter. Arthur’d been a little pissed he’d not had a chance to properly punish the man, but he imagined that Uther’d dealt with him better than he ever could. Uther had no qualms when it came to torture and murder. 

“I was starting to think that you were never going to wake up,” Arthur finally admitted.

Merlin just nodded and shuffled further into the room. He stopped at the small, circular dining table and rested his hands on the back of one of the chairs.

“Sometimes it takes longer depending on, well how bad it was,” Merlin supplied.

“Right. I suppose that makes sense,” Arthur agreed. “I was just, um, about to make lunch. Gwen was here earlier and dropped off some baking she’d done. I think there are blueberry scones and chocolate biscuits. Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” Merlin answered, but didn’t move. “What is this place, Arthur? And what are we doing here?”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Oh, well, I believe this was Lance’s grandmother’s…”

“More specifically,” Merlin cut over him, “what are you doing here?”

“I... “ Arthur swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat and reached for the kitchen towel to dry his hands on. “I have no idea honestly. I just needed to be I suppose. The things you showed me, I can’t make sense of them on my own and… bloody hell, Emrys, you’ve mixed everything up in my head and I can’t sort it on my own.” 

Merlin narrowed his eyes at him. “What can’t you sort out?”

Clearly, Arthur was out of his comfort zone here, but Merlin was still trying to wrap his own head around the change of events. The last he remembered, he’d still been a prisoner and Arthur was the one holding him captive. Was this all a trick? Had he finally cracked and he was imagining all this?

Arthur stared at him for a long time before answering. “I can’t sort out why I feel what I do when I’m around you.”

“What do you feel?” Merlin asked and had to pull out the chair so he could sit. His legs were already starting to ache.

“Well that’s the million-dollar question isn’t it,” Arthur mumbled. “I barely know you, Emrys. You’re just… you were meant to be nothing more than another inmate and yet, all I wanted to do was take you out of that place.”

A smile curled at the corners of Merlin’s lips. “Looks like you did just that.”

Arthur sighed and moved to sit at the table across from him. “You died. I didn’t really have much choice,” he pointed out. “Couldn’t just let you come back to life there. They’d never let you go then.”

“So now I’m free and you’re…” Merlin’s eyes traced over Arthur’s face. “What are you, Arthur?”

Arthur leaned in against the edge of the table and rested his hands, palms down, on its surface. “An ally? A friend if you’ll let me be?” He shook his head. “I’m still trying to figure out the rest.”

Merlin smiled. “So not my jailer then?”

Arthur smiled back. “You’re free to leave whenever you like,” he informed him. “I just… needed to see with my own eyes that you’d be okay.”

Merlin nodded. “Thank you, Arthur.”

“You’re welcome,” Arthur replied.

Silence settled between them and while Merlin took the time to really study Arthur, Arthur looked everywhere but at Merlin. He was so lost and Merlin realized he had his work cut out for him. He wouldn’t lose Arthur a second time and the man was going to have to truly accept his place and position in this world if they were going to succeed.

“You mentioned blueberry scones before?” Merlin inquired, breaking the silence.

Arthur looked over at him, nodded eagerly and jumped up from the table. “Want some coffee with that? Or I could make you something else. Water? Pop? Tea?”

Merlin chuckled and shifted to a more comfortable position in the chair. “Coffee is fine,” he told him. “I could use the caffeine. Coming back from the dead tends to take it out of me.”

Arthur snorted. “I can imagine.”

Merlin’s eyes dropped to the table and a knot formed in his throat. 

“You okay?” Arthur asked when he sat the scone in front of Merlin, then moved off to pour him a cup of coffee.

Merlin nodded. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About your Arthur?” Arthur guessed as he pulled down two mugs.

Merlin looked up, let his eyes sweep over the back of the man standing across the room.

“I know you aren’t him,” Merlin admitted. “At least, not completely.”

Arthur placed the mug of coffee on a tray with a small pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar cubes, then carried it to the table. He didn’t speak until after he’d settled back into his chair and prepared his own cup the way he liked it.

“He loved you.”

Merlin blinked hard at him.

“What?”

Arthur looked over at him and offered a small smile. “Arthur. He loved you very much.”

“He was my best friend,” Merlin supplied dumbly, lost for why Arthur was bringing this up.

“No,” Arthur stated with a shake of his head. “It was more than that. I don’t remember everything you showed me, but I saw the way he looked at you. I know that look. Pretty damn well if I say so myself,” he mused. 

“You’re wrong,” Merlin countered, his heart pounding a little harder now.

“I’m not,” Arthur assured him. “You’re right. I’m the closest thing you have to him though and I might be a little stunted when it comes to talking about feelings but…” He caught Merlin’s gaze and held it. “I know he looked at you the way I’d look at the person I loved.”

Merlin’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“Maybe he couldn’t say it. Not then,” Arthur added, “but he felt it.”

Tears welled in Merlin’s eyes and he dropped his gaze to the plate and mug in front of him. He nodded, once, twice, then sniffed and picked up the scone to take a bite.

“So where do we go from here?” Merlin asked after he’d chewed and swallowed his bite.

Arthur shrugged a shoulder, took a deep breath, then blew it out. “Forward I suppose.” He offered Merlin another small smile. “Now that I have you to guide me, I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

Merlin’s heart fluttered again and he felt heat surge to his cheeks. Was this really happening? Could he do this again?

“Promise you won’t leave me this time,” he begged softly.

Arthur rose from his chair and moved around the table. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Merlin’s forehead.

“Never again,” he promised.

Merlin turned to him, pressed his face into Arthur’s stomach and wrapped his arms around his waist. Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin’s shoulders and they stayed like that until Merlin’s stomach gave an insistent growl.

Neither were sure what they were doing or what the next move was. They still had a lot to learn about each other and Arthur still had his new status as a rebel to wrestle with. One thing they were both certain of though was this, whatever came next, they’d face it together.


End file.
